Gatherings
by mashaghost
Summary: A collection of drabbles and other writings from my ask/RP blogs. Most will likely focus on Mr. Ping or Shen (generally as a child) and characters who are close to them, since they are my two KFP muses. Ratings will typically only vary between G and PG. Individual chapters will be preceded by any warnings, if any come up!
1. Amaranth

**Title** : Amaranth

 **Characters** : Younger Mr. Ping and Po

 **Rating** : G

 **Warnings** : Some casual talk of death

 **Summary** : As a child, Po asks his father about an eternal flower he's heard stories about.

* * *

"It's a flower that never dies," he tells Po one evening when he's asked. "Where did you hear about it?" He's fairly certain it hasn't ever featured in any of his stories. You can't make noodles from a flower, even one that lives forever. Well, as far as he knows, he thinks with sudden, odd inspiration.

"I heard Mrs. Yoon talking about it. How can a flower never die?"

"Well, it's just a story, to begin with." Mr. Ping laughs.

But Po's curious expression falls at that, like he feels dumb for even asking, and the goose quickly tries to make it up to him.

"No flower _never_ wilts, Po…. but some of them do last a long time."

"…But they still die," Po finishes for him after a few seconds of silence, apparently not impressed or placated. Mr. Ping sighs, tilting his head.

"Why are you so interested in having a flower that never dies? I didn't know you even _liked_ flowers all that much."

To his confusion, Po looks deeply uncomfortable, entwining his fingers and staring down at his blanket with a nervous frown. Mr. Ping doesn't rush him to speak; he feels completely out of the loop with his young son's thoughts. Finally, Po continues, but his voice is uncharacteristically small and wavers a little.

"I just… thought it'd be nice to have something that… doesn't die. That's around… forever."

For a second, it feels to Mr. Ping like his lungs have frozen; a heavy coldness has settled in his chest. Po is so young, too young to be worried about losing things; too young to be thinking about saying goodbye. Not for the first time, Mr. Ping wonders what exactly had led to the panda's placement in that vegetable basket.

Without a word, he opens his wings, motioning for Po to lean down (the only way he can reach his son's head or shoulders anymore). He draws Po into a close hug, laying his head against Po's shoulder with a sigh.

"…There _are_ some things that last forever, Po. You just can't see them, not like a flower," he murmurs. This feels a little hollow to him, though. He thinks that perhaps that idea is not very comforting to a child. At least, it wouldn't have comforted _him_ had the thought even crossed his mind when he was Po's age.

"…Ah, maybe that doesn't make it any better," he continues with an embarrassed laugh, pulling away from Po after giving him one final squeeze, once he notices his son is uncomfortable at this angle.

"So, how about this? I'll make you a flower out of _silk_ \- that way, it won't ever die. Hm, it might grey a little- but that won't mean it's fading away, right? And you can always see it and know that I love you… and that I always will."

Po has… an odd look on his face, residual but dwindling nervous gloom behind a slow understanding.

"...Y-you don't have to, Dad- I think... I'll be okay without an immortal flower."

"Are you sure?"

Po smiles brightly down at him, -. "Yeah... it doesn't have to be something I can see. Right? As long as it lasts forever."

* * *

A/N: good lord when you're used to just writing one character's thoughts and feelings writing a scene with two characters feels really unnatural ;;;


	2. Phonophobia

**Title** : Phonophobia

 **Rating** : ...K-ish? idk it's sad but not super sad since we all know there's an eventual happy end here, right? :o Tiny, non-explicit mentions of a possible messy death, but yeh KUNG FU PANDA 2

 **Characters** : Mr. Ping

* * *

Mr. Ping doesn't know any of the smaller details about his son's latest journey to defeat this diabolical Lord Shen. He knows there is a new weapon, one never seen before, that crackles and booms and kills without difficulty or remorse, and his heart plummets in his chest in horrified panic every time he thinks of it. He doesn't understand the idea of something that sounds like a firework but ends in blood and death. He can't imagine something so horrible.

He thinks, occasionally, that if he only knew, if he was only privvy to the details, that he would stop hearing explosions every time he closes his eyes, terrifying visions and designs that have no grounding in reality. He would stop seeing Po, smiling as he walks straight into this noisy deathtrap. He would stop cringing and flinching at every loud clatter of dishes; he wouldn't be forced to huddle in his bedroom at every impromptu firecracker set off by an exuberant neighbor.

He would stop wishing, however briefly before guilt and horror chase it away, that to avoid this kind of pain, he had never become a father at all.

* * *

A/N: _Dude_ , you _guys_ , this took me so long to figure out because I was like loud noises? what the heck kind of loud noises would Mr. Ping have run into? Thunderstorms? Fireworks? (maybe that's why he didn't go up to the Jade Palace for the tournament)

But then I realized. _Shen's cannon_. If all he knew about it. was that it was very loud. and there was no way to stop it. and that's what his baby was going off to fight against.

And now you know how this got here. `~`;;


	3. Something Bad

**Title** : Something Bad

 **Rating** : PG-ish

 **Characters** : Soothsayer, teen!Shen

* * *

When he opens his eyes, it's to a lethargic, pounding headache. The room is dark and cool, and he feels cold. His eyes feel heavy, as does most of his body. He figures out very quickly that he can't lift his arms, and his fingers only twitch in reaction to the attempt to ball his fists.

This is… this is his room, he realizes dazedly, and closes his eyes again in an attempt to get it all to stop spinning.

He can't remember what happened, or why he feels so exhausted and sore. There is a faint screaming in his ears, a distant, hazy memory, and it sounds an awful lot like his voice.

Before he can drift off again, there's a rustle beside him- a sudden tugging on the blanket he's nestled into. He opens his eyes and comes face to face with the Soothsayer, pulling the blanket out from under him and throwing it over his chest.

She glances at him only for a second once she notices his open eyes, and doesn't say anything. Her face is drawn and weary, her mouth a taut, thin line. In her eyes, he can see worry and dread etched into dark circles and lines.

"…di… did I get… sick again?" He asks after coughing (his throat is raw and scratchy, and his voice suffers: he manages just a cracked whisper).

That screaming…

He hasn't gotten sick enough to feel this miserable since he was ten, but he asks anyway. The Soothsayer's hands twitch as she works, but she ultimately continues, tugging also at his skewed robe and sleeves and setting them right as well. When she speaks, her voice is low and distracted, but firm. She doesn't look at him.

"You did."

"…can' remember…"

She sighs.

"You've had… a difficult day, Shen. Don't trouble yourself too much more."

"'s nighttime," he murmurs.

" _Had_ a difficult day," she responds, so quickly he is certain she saw the observation coming. "My point still stands."

He doesn't say anything more, closing his eyes and dozing again. It's so hard to focus and stay awake, and he still can't move his arms or legs: it's just too much effort.

"…Nnnana?" He asks, stumbling over her old title. He is almost sixteen- he hasn't called her by such a name in years.

"Yes, Shen?"

He opens his eyes again, to stare up at her. The screaming is still echoing in his ears, with clear words and shrieks now. It's _his_ voice, and it's angry and loud and absolutely _uncontrolled_. There are other voices coming back to him, too, pleas to stop and horrified questions.

"I did something bad, didn't I?"

She doesn't answer him for some time, just looking him over and taking in his limp posture and half-lidded, dazed expression. Finally, she lets out a breath and leans back, and it seems to Shen not like a relieved letting go of a draining secret, but an acceptance of an awful truth. She looks very tired and old to him suddenly, and it makes him want to turn away.

"…You did something very bad."

"'m I going to be punished..?" His eyes are warm, and his heart is trying to beat faster but can't.

(That's when he realizes: a sedative. This is not the exhaustion of a fever that has run its proper course. He's been medicated. He isn't certain why, but that fact terrifies him more than anything else.)

She lays a hand on his arm and hesitantly reaches for his crinkled crest feathers, running her hand through them and trying to straighten them in vain. It's an old habit of hers to reassure him, but tonight it doesn't seem to come as naturally: her manner is stiff and agitated. He closes his eyes again and drifts.

"Things are going to work out," she finally answers in a weak murmur.

He's aware enough to realize that doesn't answer his question.

"…no, they're not…"

She doesn't argue.

* * *

A/N: A small drabble from my child!Shen blog and therefore _eyeball-deep in headcanons_ orz For my RP blog particularly and not necessarily canon itself, I headcanon that Shen had a violent outburst when he was a teenager ( _before_ his, er, attempted genocide) that resulted in his parents isolating him for a good number of years.


	4. Red

**Title** : Red

 **Characters** : kid!Shen

* * *

Shen feels sometimes that there is an unyielding wall inside him somewhere, obstinately weathering every cold, pitiless wind. Sometimes he feels certain he would simply collapse without it, even when he's certain it's the cause of all his problems: it's become his only support, the only thing that keeps him alive.

He is different. He doesn't look like other children. He doesn't resemble his parents, and he never will. He doesn't _want_ to accept it- he _wants_ to find the one to blame, make them hurt and regret what they let happen to him.

More and more, however, he is realizing there _is_ no one to blame. It was simply an inexplicable, unavoidable misfortune that just so happened to land on him, and he will instead turn his ire on the unfairness of it all. When the wall does finally crumble, when he accepts that nothing can be done and no revenge can be exacted for a perfectly natural unnatural event, it is not a letting go of a burden so much as it is an embracing of a deeply-rooted despair.

 **A/N** : This actually came from a writing prompt so um. Not sure what to rate it or what to label it under, as far as genre and all that :|


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